


D-Day

by write_light



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Schmoop (just a bit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-02
Updated: 2007-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giving a gift takes planning, timing, and, when it's a gift that really matters, love.  If only Dean's life were just a little bit less crazy.</p><p><b>Teaser: </b> In the car, a block from the police station, in some small town with a dead sheriff's deputy and mutilated cows and that lingering odor in the carpeting and Sam more pissed off than he'd been in a long time.  This was NOT how Dean had imagined it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D-Day

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Wuv, Cattle Mutilations,  & a Shopping Mall (not in that order).

**[three days earlier]**

   "Get back in the car, Dean."  
   "Sam,… you need to do this, I don't."  
   "You said you wanted to get out, meet people. There'll be lots of hot girls."  
   Dean tilted his head, an expression of "What did I do to deserve this?" passing quickly over his face.  
   "And guys."  
   Dean sighed.  
   "You roll your eyes back like that again, and they'll stay that way."  
   "Sam…?" It was more plaintive this time.  
   "Dean." Sam gave him The Look.  
   "But, a _mall_?"

***

   Dean walked past the shops and strollers, the cloud of cinnamon bun vapor slowing him momentarily, past the "Super Sale!" and the parked husbands and the security guard who eyed him with actual fear, until he'd reached the other end.  
   "See?" cajoled Sam. "You made it all the way to the deep end. Ready to try the food court?"  
   "What??"  
   "Okay, not ready…."  
   "What are we here for – we can order something online, can't we?"  
   "Dean, it's called window shopping. Normal people do it. Freaks can too. Besides, the less of a credit trail, the better. We  can pay cash here."  
   "These places aren't right."  
   "We went to one before, with Dad, like eight, ten years ago, remember?"  
   "That one had a bar."  
   "Yeah, well this one has a food court. And a restroom, I hope. Look, just stay put. I'll be right back. Sit in one of those chairs."  
   "With the boyfriends?!" The note of panic was evident.  
   "I'll be _r i g h t   b a c k_."  
   "Sam. _Sammy!_ " His stage whisper was ineffective.  
   Left to his own devices, Dean edged closer to the wall and by chance discovered a shop window full of knives, swords, and beer steins.  
   "This could be interesting."  
   Six girls, each laughing louder than the one before, pushed past him to enter the shop, giggling at higher and higher pitch as each pointed to something tackier than the last. Dean turned and left, but was quickly back against the wall. A few stores down, something caught his eye as he passed.  
   It was a single strand of black leather with two silver beads and two small chips of what looked like black pearl set against them. Simple, elegant, masculine. He wanted to get it for Sam. He wanted to _give_ it to Sam.  
   He was so stiff, so lacking his usual charisma, that the storekeeper was half-convinced he was going to pull a gun and rob him at any minute.  
   "That – that necklace, with the silver balls, can I see it? Please?"  
   "Certainly, sir. It's new in. Very simple. Very masculine. It suits you, sir."  
   "It's for my bro—my friend."  
   "I **see,** " he gushed knowingly, confirming Dean's worst fears. "$200." The annoyed smirk was wiped clean and replaced with a slack-jawed gape.  
   "For a necklace?"  
   "More of a choker, sir. With engraved silver beads from Turkey, and rare ebony pearls."  
   _So nice on Sam's neck. He had to tell Sam sometime._  
   "Charge it."  
   "Yes, Mr. … Cordillo," he said, checking the card. Dean smiled with his lips pressed tight together.

***

   He was outside a teddy bear store when Sam caught up.  
   "Where the hell did you get to? I said wait by the chairs!"  
   "Calm down, Sam."  
   "I thought you might be…"  
   "What, taken? Fighting demons?"  
   "Ruining your dinner with cinnamon buns, actually."  
   "C'mon, Sam. Let's find this food court."

 **[two days earlier]**

  
   Still no clear leads on what was killing and mutilating cattle.  Dean wasn't sure it needed their time and attention.  
   "Isn't this something more for Mulder and Scully?"  
   "There was the farmer – did the same thing to him."  
   "One farmer, three months ago.  In the wrong place at the wrong time."  
   "I'm sure this is something besides bored kids or a budding sociopath,"  said Sam.  
   "Yeah, well, you keep thinking it's a UFO and we'll need to get you checked for an implanted chip in your nose."  
   "Why am I Scully?"  
   "Huh?"  
   "Scully had the chip in her nose."  
   "It's just an expression."  
   "What?? That doesn't even make sense."  
   Dean was saved by a buzz on the police scanner, and a man's voice, lost in panic, fear coming through the speaker and making their skin prickle. Then silence.  
   Dean pulled on his jacket and felt the necklace still in the pocket.  
   "Damn." He couldn't take it out now.  
   "C'mon, Dean. Cops'll be there in no time."  
   The night clerk, seeing them skid out onto the highway, pulled the credit receipt and looked again at it. "Transaction authorization 344027". Seemed okay.

***

   In the field, there was so much blood, and so many pieces, that it was hard to tell which were the cow and which were the sheriff's deputy.  
   "Make it quick. They'll be here any second."  
   "We could wait until they leave."  
   "They won't. It'll be taped off and inspected for a week."  
   "Nothing on the EMF. No satanic symbols, nothing."  
   "No crop circles?"  
   Over the ridgeline came a convoy of three police cars and an ambulance, the entire county allotment, and from the other direction, two more cars, called in from Corden County.  
   "RUN!"  
   They took off across the field, the car safely hidden in the trees, but cut off now. In the dark, they found the wallow before they could stop, and were up to their calves in mud, Sam falling face first, Dean balancing wildly like a drunken gymnast.    When he steadied himself, he felt cautiously for Sam's gift. Still there.  
   "Sam – what the hell is this?"  
   "Low spot. Cow hollow." He could hear Sam spitting, over and over again. "Give me a hand up."  
   Out came his hand, necklace wrapped around his fingers in a nervous habit. "Dean, where are you? Give me your hand."  
   He reached out, and off slipped the necklace, into the mud and water, into the blackness.  
   Dean, distracted, pulled one boot up, then the other, with a sucking sound, and stumbled toward where he thought the necklace had splashed. Nothing. He ran his hands through the muck, much more pungent over here, finding nothing, again and again.  
   "Dean! What the hell are you doing?"  
   "Sam! Where are you? Thought you were over here!"  
   "Get me out of this mud. The cops will be here any minute!"  
   Dean abandoned the search and swung around toward Sam's voice, holding out his hands.  
   "What the hell - Dean, you've got cow shit all over your hands – get them out of my face!"  
   Hands connected, Dean pulled up hard, and Sam slammed into him. Dean let him rest there, because it felt so damn good. Was it ten seconds? Longer?

***

   Dean fumed all the way back to the car, which took nearly a half hour to reach by a wide circle, avoiding the murder scene. He fumed as they drove back, reeking, filling his car with that smell, and with mud. And $200 gone, and that gift, gone. Sam thought it was all about the Impala, so he let Dean fume, not even daring to turn down the Sabbath that pierced his eardrums.

 **[one day earlier]**

   There was no going back to the field. It was topic number one on the local news, and helicopters had arrived. The deputy was identified by dental records, (the news omitted that there was just one tooth, and only the top half of that).  
   "I'm taking the car to the car wash."  
   "I'll come with you."  
   "You should stay here and see what you can find out."  
   "What? We should be in town, talking to people."  
   "Yeah, well, I can wash the car fine by myself."  
   "Dean, it's full of mud. They'll be suspicious."  
   "Then I'll clean it out at the Self Serve."  
   "Drop me in town, then go clean it."  
   "Sam, stay here! Find something on the computer. Mutilating spirits. Aliens. Whatever."  
   "Dean – "  
   The door slammed. Impala-anger made a good cover for Dean's real frustration. He drove to the car wash and began wiping out the muck. Bought a pine tree freshener, tried it, then threw it away. Not in this car. The fragrance sickened him, besides.  
   "Fuck! Think, Dean."

***

   An hour and a half later, car cleaned to his satisfaction, he headed downtown with an idea still forming. He didn't dare go back to that mall, not on his own. He found a gift shop, which had a few simple silver necklaces in the window, but they were all wrong.  
   "Perhaps a ring?" inquired the wisp of a woman who appeared to be the owner.  
   "I'm sorry?"  
   "A gift for that special someone – that's what you need. Am I right?"  
   "Um, yeah, a gift."  
   "Perhaps a ring?" she repeated.  
   "No, not a ring. That's just too g—" He stopped himself abruptly. "Any necklaces with silver beads? On a cord like this?" He held up his own necklace with one finger.  
   The woman stared intently at the amulet dangling from the black cord.  "Cord like that we have. But silver beads that are strong enough will be hard to find.  Perhaps something more like that amulet you have?"  
   He looked down at it, momentarily thrown.  
   "Uh, no. I need silver beads."  
   "There's a make-your-own table in the back. You string whatever you find, pay by the inch."  
   Dean shuddered at the thought of sitting in a gift shop, stringing beads. Maybe the mall wasn't so bad. He found some leather cord, a bit thinner than the one on the first necklace, and some cheap silver beads that weighed almost nothing. They didn't seem good enough, so he tossed them back.  
   He poked among the beads, and found no good substitutes. He couldn't recreate it.  
   The owner appeared over his shoulder, startling him. "There are some cheap silver beads in here, if you dig around. She slipped a hand into the trough and fished around for a bit, pulling out two silver beads.  
   "I saw those. They were…" She dropped them in his hand, where they clinked and sat heavy in his palm. Unengraved, a bit tarnished, but not the plastic ones he'd found earlier. "I'd love some black pearls, if you have those in there too," he joked.  
   "You keep looking."  
   He pulled up handfuls of stones, finding nothing suitable. Occasionally he glanced up at other customers, who seemed to be avoiding the area where he sat. His thoughts turned to what he would say to Sam.  
   " _I made it myself._ " " _I got this at the mall the other night._ "  His hands were full of green Mardi Gras beads and large African red-and-yellow clay beads. "Sam, this is from me to you. I…" He stuck there, looking up as he realized he'd said it out loud. In his hands after the latest scoop were two small chips of something very dark, very much like the pearls in his other necklace.  
   "We're closing now. Did you find everything?" asked the wisp at the register.

 **[D-Day]**

   It had kept Dean awake all night. Not what to say, or how, or when, because that was clear now. But he'd realized, with a jolt, that the necklace was a cord, two beads, and two black pearls in his pocket. In other words, not a necklace at all. He had to get out. At least for half an hour.

   Sam was rapidly growing tired of getting ditched by Dean, and two days of this behavior, and the sulking, and the Impala-worship, and another long afternoon of Dean gone – he'd had enough. Except that as much as he wanted to ditch _Dean_ for once, he still preferred his brother's company to time alone.

***

   Dean dressed quickly while Sam showered. Sam was talking to him again through the door, about something that didn't make a whole lot of sense, but seemed to involve Dean answering a lot of questions.  
   "I'm gonna go fill up the tank."  
   "Dean, what the hell?" Sam's voice sounded strained, and a bit peeved.  
   "Back in no time."  
   Dean wasn't back in an hour, or two hours, or even three. Sam went from furious to way past furious to scared. He headed outside, went back for a coat.  
   The police station was the last place he wanted to go, but it was the best place to get info.

***

   "I'm looking for my brother," Sam told the clerk at the counter.  
   "Is he missing? He didn't disappear last night, did he?" the clerk added, in a whisper.  
   "Um, no, this morning. His name's … well, he's about six foot, short hair, strong jaw. Pisses people off."  
   "I know who you mean. Brought him in two hours ago, for loitering. Wouldn't shut up, especially after we took his personal effects. Said we couldn't lose the necklace."  
   "Necklace?"  
   "More of a choker. Listen, you gonna bail him out?"  
   "Yeah."

   Dean's face was unreadable. It was flushed, something that only happened when Dean was caught red-handed and couldn't talk his way out fast enough.  
   " _Loitering_?!"  
   "All a mistake, Sam."  
   "Dean, what were you - _where_ were you?  
   "Personal effects" said the releasing officer, uninterested in Dean. Dean's eyes snapped to the envelope.  
   "I'll take that."  
   "I want to see this necklace first."  
   Dean's eyes went from the envelope to Sam and back, five or six times.  
   "What is wrong with you?"  
   "Personal effects, Sam. For me. Mine."  
   Sam tossed the envelope at him in disgust.  
   "Sam!"  
   "I'll be in the car," he said over his shoulder.

***

   In the car, a block from the police station, in some small town with a dead sheriff's deputy and mutilated cows and that lingering odor in the carpeting and Sam more pissed off than he'd been in a long time. This was NOT how Dean had imagined it.  
   Now or never.  
   "Sam –" Silence. Frosted around the edges, and growing colder. "I got you something."  
   Sam glared at him from under his brows, curious and disbelieving and even more irritated, and caught by the tone of Dean's voice.  
   "I mean, I made you this." He held out the necklace. There in the car, in broad daylight, with people walking by.  
Sam looked at it, his nostrils flared in anger, jaw clenching.  
   "You _what_?"  
   Completely the opposite reaction he'd imagined. Time to go for broke.  
   "I bought you one, at this jewelry store when we were at the mall, before we went to the food court. It cost me $200, which I charged, by the way, so we'll have to toss that card. When we were running through the field the other night, I had it in my pocket, and it fell out, in the mud. I couldn't find it, but I tried, Sam. Yesterday afternoon I went into town and there was this gift shop that had a make-your-own-necklace table, with all these beads, and this weird woman that I swear was helping me re-create the one I lost, and then I had to go out this morning and try to put the beads on the cord, so I parked on a side street and tried to make the necklace look like the one I bought, but I parked by an elementary school and someone freaked and called the cops and I couldn't say I was making a necklace, so they brought me in to the station, and now, well…"  
   Sam was looking at him as if he thought Dean had cracked. Cracked wide open. After a minute, Dean looking pleadingly at him the whole time, Sam spoke.  
   "Why did you buy me a necklace?"  
   Dean was caught off guard.  
   "Well a ring would be kinda g--"  
   Sam tilted his head like a puzzled dog.  
   "So this is a, you know, a brotherly gift. I have one, so you should have one."  
   Sam looked from Dean to the necklace in his hands.  
   "It's not my birthday or Christmas. What's up, Dean?"  
   "I wanted to give you a … gift. A necklace seemed like a good idea."  
   "It's nice. But I still don't get – "  
   "Will you take it?"  
   Sam's perplexed expression riled Dean, but he couldn't think of how to clear it up.  
   "Your face, when you have no idea what the hell's going on, is worth more than what I paid for this."  
   Sam stared at him for a long while. Dean's face was an open book, and Sam could tell he was baring his soul. He just couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He took the necklace and ran his finger over the beads and then --  
   "Are these pearls?"  
   "Probably plastic."  
   "What does the engraving say?"  
   "They're not engraved; the originals had a pattern but these are—  
   "No, there's something on the silver beads. It's like small circles. And this other one has wavy lines."  
   "I don't see how…"  
   "I love it. It's very cool. And you made it for me."  
   Sam put it over his head and around his neck.  
   _So nice on his neck._  
   "I'm not taking it off. Ever."  
   "You needed something. I never gave you anything."  
   "I get it, Dean. I do. "  



End file.
